


BALKING

by rothalion



Category: Army Of Two (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 17:13:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14406708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rothalion/pseuds/rothalion
Summary: Salem begins to have reservations about his growing relationship with Vasily Tyannikov.





	1. ONE

Salem groaned, and then flopped onto his back. He felt satiate. He’d learned the word while reading a worn out romance novel while waiting in the doctor’s office for Rios. Satiated…fulfilled to excess. And he was. He was also hot, comfortably hot and that also pleased him immensely. After two weeks skulking around the freezing winter shrouded mountains of South Ossetia on a recon op, he was desperate to feel warmth. He shivered when Vasily slid from the tussled bed separating their sweat slick bodies and letting the cool night air dusting through the open sliding glass doors that made up the entire eastern wall of Vasily’s eighteenth floor condo’s bedroom.

           “Fuck me twice, Old bear. The hell?”

            The big man stopped, turned and smiled back at him. He’d love to fuck him twice, but since getting home Elliot had been un-naturally, for the lack of a better description, clingy. Despite that out of character behavior, it had still taken two days before they had finally had sex. Fantastic sex but once again behaving out of character Salem had led the way, with a bit more initiative then typical. No, Vasily thought, initiative wasn’t quite correct, it was more akin to aggression. The older man just wanted to feel him out a bit, try to get to the root of Elliot’s neediness. So he planned on slowing the evening down to make sure that the younger man wasn’t just acting out because of some issue that may have occurred during the op. Salem fought and brawled in bars to forget his job, he drank and he railed against the world to forget the job and the last thing that Vasily wanted was for him to start using overly aggressive or assertive sex to escape his demons. He desperately wanted Elliot to enjoy sex for the intimacy, and the connection that it created between them. He wanted, for the first time in his life, for Elliot to experience the gentleness of the act. 

          “Towels, Barsuhk, we are a mess.”

          “Hurry.” He hissed burrowing his aching, cold beleaguered feet under the covers bunched at the bottom of the bed.

          Once Vasily had cleaned Elliot up, he slid back into the bed and drew the slate gray down comforter up and over them. Salem rolled onto his right side, slid his left leg in between Vasily’s and then rested his head on the bigger man’s broad chest. After a long, tired sigh, he scooted up a bit and nestled his head beneath Vasily’s stubble coarsened chin. Finally, he wrapped his left arm around the stunned man’s waist and scooting even closer made it the first time that Elliot had ever cuddled without Tyannikov pulling him into place.

          “Warm again?” Vasily asked before tenderly kissing the top of Elliot’s sweat dampened head.

          “Yea, thank fuck. You’re like a radiator. Might have to trade Tyse in for you for these cold ops. Do that again, the kiss, I like it.”

          Tyannikov craned his thick neck down a bit, studied him through squinty gray eyes, chuckled, and repeated the kiss lingering slightly longer this time, breathing in the sandalwood scent of Elliot’s damp hair. Then, feeling Elliot relax into him even more, he began running the back of his right hand fingers along Salem’s jaw and cheek. He hadn’t shaved in nearly a month preferring the thicker beard for the cold weather, and his normal three day stubble was thick and soft. After a short while, Vasily shifted and pushed his fingers back through Elliot’s hair tucking it behind his left ear. Then he ran his thumb across the scar bisecting his left eyebrow. Salem pressed up tighter beneath Vasily’s chin wriggling even closer, yet. He didn’t want the memory of how he’d gotten the scar to ruin his sense of contentment. Also, Elliot knew that this new behavior, cuddling closer, pleased the Russian, and pleasing Vasily was paramount for him sealing his place in Tyannikov’s life. Still, despite Vasily’s reciprocation, he couldn’t shake his anxiety.

          “Anything else that my Little Badger likes?” 

          “Just this. I…I missed you, Sily.”

         “Missed you too, Barsuhk. I am glad that you came home safe to me.”

          “No other way. Guess I’ll lose the beard tomorrow.”

          “Nyet, Barsuhk. It suits you. Maybe just trim a bit, even it out. Like your usual scruff but a little bit thicker, nyet?”

          “Hmm.” Elliot hummed. Despite being well within SSC’s guidelines, Rios would not be pleased with any more than his usual three days’ worth of stubble. Scruff was not acceptable.

          “So, no thoughts on what else pleases you?”

          Salem squirmed and tightened his grasp round the bigger man’s waist. Pleased him? For thirty-three years of his life, nothing about sex pleased him in any way. Pleasurable sex was all so new, desirable, and exciting but still fraught with terror and shame, and he didn’t know how to voice, share that revelation of pleasure and engrained fear with Vasily. There were things that they hadn’t done and probably, if he had his way, never would, and the thought of that soured his stomach with guilt and terror. He was a coward. Pushing the feeling aside, Elliot reached up with his left hand and without looking ran his thumb across Vasily’s lips a few times before grasping his waist tightly again.

          Elliot started to say that whatever pleased Vasily pleased him, but that was not how their relationship worked. That had been the old him, with Jennifer and Celia, with the women who hounded him in the bars because he was handsome and seemed dangerous. He was the bad guy every woman coveted and wanted to catch, lay claim to, tame and slake their needs with for the night. But now, with Vasily, he’d learned that sex was a two way street, and he had to work very hard at accepting his new role as an equal partner, at not falling back on old habits. He shrugged and yawned.

         “Pleases me? Who cares. Don’t have a fuck of a lot of experience to go by, Old Bear.”

          “I care,” Tyannikov said. “Barsukh I love you and I care.”

           “Kissing. I like kissing. _Being_ kissed,” he offered quietly, then shrugged and shivered slightly, “You anyway, kissing you. Never kissed anyone else before so…yea, kissing.”

          Vasily sighed and tugged the smaller man closer. Experience. He had no concrete idea, aside from the bad stuff, as to what experience Salem actually had with sex. When Elliot turned up at his home in Osijek, Croatia six months ago and finally made his move toward further intimacy Tyannikov had been stunned to learn that Elliot had never actually kissed anyone before. The kissing admission truly surprised him, but then the younger man’s reason for why shocked him even more; because he hadn’t found anyone that he’d loved enough. Elliot’s admission shattered Vasily’s heart, and if he’d doubted his love for the troubled younger mercenary that simple truth had quashed it.

          “You know, Barsuhk, this worries me,” he said and felt Elliot tense slightly, “Shh, nothing is wrong, shh. But experience, I do not know what you do have,” Vasily said shrugging, “so, I worry that I will…”

          Salem shot up from the bed. Vasily, startled by the un-expected motion, slid back against the teak headboard and gapped at the naked, now furious man staring down at him, his hazel eyes full of fear and anger.

          “Whoa, Barsukh. Что? What…”

          “Fuck you. Что my ass! What!  What? Worry what? That I’m not good enough, skilled enough for you!”

           Tyannikov vaulted free of the blankets and stood in front of him. Salem backed away, holding up his right hand warning him off. How, Vasily wondered,  had this simple conversation gone so sideways so fast?

          “No, Barsuhk, no.” Vasily said holding his hands out palms up in surrender, “I just do not want to cross line, hurt you, scare you and if I know more about…”

          Salem shook his head violently side to side as if trying to clear his thoughts, then raised his right arm, shoulder high and pointed a gnarled, crooked trigger finger at Vasily. His eyes glistened with un-shed tears, and he shook.

          “Not…another…word! You, you know my, my experience, you fucker. You know! How dare you…”

          “Barsuhk, stop it. Listen to me. I do, I do, but I just wanted to ask about the good…”

          “I don’t need this shit!”

          And then he was gone. Vasily followed him through the condo to the second bedroom where Salem was jamming his legs into a pair of tattered Levis and pulling on his socks and boots. Vasily threw his arms up into the air in dismay.

          “Where are you going? _Why_ are you going? Barsuhk please let me explain myself. Barsuhk?”

          As he spoke the words, Tyannikov knew the utter futility of them. This was the broken Elliot, the terrified Elliot, the Elliot that he’d fought so hard for so long to heal. He had spooked him, and now he needed, despite what he knew would probably occur and the danger that it entailed, let him go out and find his center again.

          “Just be careful. I love you.” He said quietly, as Salem grabbed a shirt, his wallet, keys, and hat. “Come home to me safe.”

          “Fuck you!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. TWO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot continues to question his purpose in life.

TWO

 

Three days later, Salem woke up in the bed of his truck, curled up in the fetal position, shivering with cold. He lay there un-moving. Experience had taught him long ago to assess his damage before moving. His mouth tasted coppery, and a quick pass of his tongue along his lips assured him that a vicious punch had rendered them split and swollen. A second swipe into the upper left side divulged a loose molar. After unclenching his hands from his biceps, he flexed them in and out of fists. It hurt, and he hissed at the pain. He may have lost, but his hands had done damage. Reaching up he gently felt around his left eye and discovered that it was nearly swollen shut. The fight had been a bad one, he supposed, finally stretching out his cramping legs and rolling onto his back.

        Everything hurt. It was an ache that he was all too familiar with. It was the type of hurt that came with a sound beating. The bruising spanned from head to toe and the back of his skull seemed to not rest quite normally on the truck’s cold bed. Salem reached up and felt for the lump. Dried blood had knotted his hair and the gash would, according to his finger’s probing, need or at least should get stitches. He felt around some more and his trembling, stiff fingers dug a dime sized piece of glass out of the raw wound. After tossing the caramel colored shard away, Elliot sighed; hit from behind with a bottle…he was slipping. Or maybe, and the thought scared him, giving up again. Then the throbbing began, crushing his brain and making him squeeze his eyes shut. Drink, he needed a drink.

      The thought of that got him moving. His 4X4, red F-350 was still in the parking lot of the last bar he’d staggered into. Honcho’s Pit…not the best choice, he figured, unless you were asking for a beat down. He guessed that after working him over they’d just dumped him into the big truck’s bed. The sun was barely up, and the temperature was in the low forties, he was freezing. Resolved, Salem rolled out of the truck and landed heavily on the ground, pea gravel digging into his elbows. For a few minutes, he just sat there leaning back against the rear wheel, sucking in alcohol tainted breaths and trying to get his bearings. Finally, his bladder won out, and he dragged himself up, took a piss against a dying oak tree’s base and then patted his pockets for his keys and wallet. Both were there and for that he was grateful.

       Ten minutes later, he staggered into a liquor store and bought a fifth of Stoli. The clerk looked at him like he was a wild animal and Elliot supposed that he was. Dark crimson blood clotted his grown out beard and even with his hat on, skewed by the bump on the back of his head, his filthy hair jagging out in spikes was clearly a matted mess. Worse yet, his eyes, well the one that was open, were glazed and as red as his truck. Back in the big vehicle, the battered man opened the Stoli and took a long swig. The burn felt good, and he let his head rock back against the head rest. Two pulls later, he felt a bit fortified, and he pulled out of the parking lot.

       Half an hour later, driving back toward home, Elliot realized that he had no real destination. Then after a quick glance at himself in the rear view mirror, he also realized that he needed help. It had been a long time since he’d fallen this far, and the thought of his failure made him feel sick. He had no one though. He was alone again, and the realization hurt, physically hurt, and the pain of that hurt terrified him. He wanted to be warm again. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted, needed Vasily, but he’d ruined that. He’d proven, once again, not to be good enough. His entire life had revolved around being _qualified,_ selling his father’s drugs, Basic Training, Sniper and Ranger school and now Vasily had finally figured him out…he was a sexual novice, a newbie, a ‘crute, he was not _qualified to be loved_.

       Somewhere, just before entering back into Miami, Salem had a thought. He could go to SSC headquarters. He could clean up there, lay low, sober up and make a plan. He couldn’t go home. His apartment, his _home_ , was an empty void and that would just hurt. So work, he would go to work. Work was stable. Work was dependable. He could count on work to distract his mind from all of his painful thoughts and injuries, to punish him for his failings. Twenty minutes later he was in the parking garage doubting his decision. If Murray caught him in this condition she’d kill him. They were all sick of his dysfunction, but he was sick of their judgments. So, he thought bitterly, fuck them. He slammed the truck into park, took another long swig of his Stoli and stumbled out of the truck.

        Elliot wasn’t sure how or why he had ended up in SSC’s clinic standing in front of the mental health unit, or how long it had taken for him to stagger there but there he was. Like much of the last three days he had no memory of consciously deciding to go to the clinic. The Stoli and the concussion, he was sure that he had one, must be clouding his judgement. He pushed through the door, and the receptionist looked up and then stood up her face a wash of fear and concern. She rounded the desk and approached him cautiously. Years of working with high strung, aggressive men had taught her to always be wary.

       “Can I help you?”

       “O…O’Dell, Dr. O’Dell…need to see him. Salem, s’ Salem, Elliot Salem?”

       “I will tell him that you are here.”

       Salem grunted, and after a cursory glance and glower around the small waiting room went and leaned back against the peach hued wall in a corner farthest away from anyone. He was so tired.

 


	3. THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Salem finally opens up to the SSC mental health psychiatrist.

THREE

 

Zelda Bowles knocked lightly on Dr. O’Dell’s door. He was with a client, so she knew that her interruption would be awkward. The psychiatrist excused himself to the man and ordered her in. She paused in the doorway and cleared her throat.

       “I am sorry, Dr. O’Dell, but we have an emergency of sorts. Salem, _Elliot Salem_ is in the waiting room. He is in very bad condition, and I just think he needs to be seen immediately.”

       “What kind of condition?”

       “He is drunk, and badly beaten. He looks like he has not slept in days. He needs help.”

       “I see,” O’Dell replied running his right hand back through his blond hair. “Listen, Clive, can we finish this later? I really need to see this guy. If I make him wait, he’ll bolt on me.”

       “Sure, no worries. Salem, huh? Guy’s a loose cannon, real head case. How the fuck Rios tolerates his shit is beyond me. Dude’s a smart guy. Rios that is. Big bastard needs to dump the little ass bitch. Find it hard to believe he turned up voluntarily. See you later.”

       “Right, in on his own…You and me both.”

       O’Dell stood up and shook Clive’s hand, then followed him out into the waiting room. He was relieved to find Elliot still leaning in the corner. He was a mess. He stood head down chin on his chest, hands shoved into his pockets seemingly asleep on his feet. O’Dell approached him and, when three feet away, called out gently to rouse him.

       “Elliot, come on, pal your up.”

       Salem looked up at him blinked and then looked around as if unsure of his surroundings. Finally, he pushed off of the wall and shuffled along behind the doctor. Once inside the room, O’Dell sat him down on the forest green, leather couch and then pulled his desk chair around. He wanted to remove the desk as a barrier. Salem _only_ came for his mandatory evaluations and post op debriefings, and he never spoke. The doctor couldn’t risk alienating him when he’d finally come in voluntarily.

       “You look cold, Elliot. Can I get you a blanket?”

       Salem nodded and O’Dell spun round in his chair and used his intercom to call Zelda and request the blanket and some water.

       “I’m really glad to see you. What brings you in?”

       “Need answers. Need help. You’re the help guy.”

       Salem’s voice was hoarse, and O’Dell frowned while observing the bruising on Salem’s throat. For a second, he wondered if Rios had beaten him. When Rios came in for sessions  Rios talked. One of the subjects was his treatment of Elliot. The man was a handful, and Rios had readily admitted to O’Dell that he’d beaten him senseless on many occasions out of sheer frustration. He’d asked O’Dell if he thought that Salem pushed his buttons with the intention of getting beaten. He’d wondered if Salem sought out the beatings as some form of absolution. O’Dell agreed but with-held his theory that Elliot was so broken that it was only through experiencing pain that he truly felt _anything_. So, in turn, he passive aggressively set himself up to be hurt by Rios, who he loved unconditionally. Rios, albeit astute in psychology, and stoked with O’Dell’s diagnosis, was still too wrapped up in the aura and the financial windfall of them being, ‘ _An Army of Two’_ to truly acknowledge Salem’s defects, and so the twisted coupling persisted.

       The doctor focused back on the shattered operator in front of him, “Okay, we can manage that. How badly are you hurt, Elliot?”

       “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I’ll heal.”

       “It matters, Elliot. It fucking matters to me.”

       There was a soft knock on the door, and Zelda reached in with a heavy, black woolen blanket and a bottle of water.

       “Thanks, Zelda. Do me a favor, get Jacob on the line, and tell him I’ll have someone special for him after a bit. Okay, here you go, just…let’s wrap this around your shoulders. Water?”

       “Brought my own.”

Salem produced the now half-full fifth of Stoli, opened it and took a long drink.

       “I see, so questions, help?”

       “I, I’m fucking, somebody.”

       O’Dell took the statement in. He’d read all of Salem’s records and the man had a horrific past. The rumor mill pegged him as a womanizer who slummed around the strip clubs and bars drinking and fucking himself senseless. The doctor doubted their validity. Despite Elliot’s silence during sessions, O’Dell had a pretty clear picture, thanks to his team members’ sessions, of what or who the troubled man was. Life had broken him, trapping him in his current situation. For release, he did drink and fight. But the sex…he just didn’t see, considering Elliot’s history, that aspect, facet of him. He cared too deeply for people to intentionally give them the short shrift of one night stands.

        It was the norm and sadly unfortunate that a man with Elliot’s history of pervasive sexual victimization might repeatedly suffer the sexual deprivations of others, to be re-victimized, and in turn, trivialize and seek out detached and dysfunctional forms of sex. O’Dell trusted his gut, though. Salem didn’t _seek_ sex out. He didn’t prowl or flirt or try to pick up partners. O’Dell knew that he didn’t have the needed skillset. Conversely, O’Dell also knew that trained as a sniper, a hunter of men, and if tasked with such an op, Salem would _manage_ it for the mission. He knew that the stories bandied about by the crowd about Salem’s womanizing likely centered instead upon Elliot being hunted by women and in turn capitulating to them for the image that it portrayed. He did not have the tools to say no, to stand up for himself. Besides, if the guys thought that he was fucking women at will then he was a qualified member of the team, and acceptance was all that mattered to Salem. It was all about qualifying.  

       “Okay, is that something that you want to do?”

       “Yea. Finally. Thirty-three fuckin’ years and finally…”

       He broke off and shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. How the hell had he ended up in O’Dell’s office? He started to stand and then flopped back down. He had nothing left and nowhere to go.

       “I’m gonna ask this, Elliot, reaffirm it for me, that this, this relationship…that it is consensual.”

       “Yea, I did it. I asked. I…I flew fuckin’ to Croatia to star…start it. I started it, me. He wouldn’t. Wanted me, because I wanted him not ‘cause I was afraid…‘fraid to say no. I started it. Started the fuckin’.”

       His head dropped down, and he snapped it back up. The man was exhausted, O’Dell thought.

       “So, who is the lucky person?”

       “Sily? Vasily, my old bear. Love him.”

       O’Dell nodded. It didn’t surprise him. Rios had, on several occasions, railed about the big Russian’s relationship with Elliot. Rios hated the merc slash doctor and did everything in his power to keep them apart, which forced Elliot to keep the friendship a closely guarded secret.

       “Okay, Vasily Tyannikov. I know of him. Great guy. Great doctor. I’m happy for you, Elliot.”

       “Broken. No experience. No fucking skills, ‘cept head. I can suck a cock. Fuck knows I’ve been at since I was a fuckin’ kid. Still, he wants experience, the fucker.”

       “Elliot can we back up? What happened between you two? I need a sit-rep to understand your pain here, Pal. So, I can help. What happened?”

       “Wanted a fuckin’ sex resume. Wanted me qualified.”

       “A sex resume?”

       “Wanted my experience.”

       “He asked about your experience?”

       “Said worried, worried he’d overstep, hurt me, scare me, but I know, I know what the truth is. He’s testing me. He knows the shit I’ve suffered. I…”

       O’Dell watched Salem open and take another long drink from the Stoli. He knew that asking him to put the bottle down would push him away so he tamped down the urge.

       “I know that you haven’t had many if any, meaningful relationships Elliot. So…”

       “Ya, think!” Elliot spat out, “That all you learned in doctor school? Get a refund. Who the fuck would want a _meaningful_ relationship with a shit like me! Just ask Rios. He never lets me forget that he only keeps me because, ‘cause nobody else will have me.”

       “Elliot, what I said, asked that wasn’t an indictment, just an observation. How long have we known one another, eight, ten years? Maybe not friends, sure, I know, but we are in each other's orbit so to speak. You come in for your biannual evals. You come in for your post op debriefs, but in a decade these are the most words that you’ve ever spoken. I have had several meaningful relationships. I can assure you that asking about a partner’s past experiences is very common. Just a way, to say, find common ground.”

       “Common ground?”

       “Yea, think of it like an op, Elliot. You want to know the experience of the guys with you. A relationship is a mission. Celia, and you, that was a relationship. Didn't the two of you discuss experience?"

       "She just took what she wanted. She wanted to fuck, so I let her fuck me."

       "Well, Vasily he's asking because he cares about what _you_ want." 

       “And if he decides, thinks I’m not fit, what…he kicks my skinny bitch ass to the curb like all the rest of ‘em!”

       “How long Elliot, how long have you loved Vasily Tyannikov?”

       “I have Tyse.”

       “And you always will. Loving Vasily won’t change that. Not if you don’t let it. Don’t use this, a simple question about experience, as an excuse to destroy what you have started with Vasily. Don’t let Rios’ control issues ruin what you have begun. Vasily is worried that he might hurt you. And rightfully so, Elliot. Come on, Pal, it’s not like you’ve ever had it easy. I’ve seen your files. I know about Turkey too and what that bastard did to you. Tyannikov is more than just a merc, Elliot. He’s a doctor just like me. He’s a good man. He’s no Rios.”

       “Rios is good!”

       “Rios is good, but he is also a manipulative narcissist with a mean streak a mile long, that was honed by Marcus Ferrell.”

       O’Dell sat back and watched as his words sank in. He wished that he could tell the young man that Rios had confessed to raping him two years ago in a drunken rage fueled fit. But he couldn’t. It would break confidence and Elliot would see it as a humiliation. It was a fine line juggling what he knew about Elliot from his files and what he knew because Rios or one of the other team members had confided in him.

       “I’m tired. Since I first met him, loved him I think. It hurt, hurt so fuckin’ much. God so, so tired.”

       “I can see that.” O’Dell agreed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and trying to make eye contact with the stricken young man. “I can see that. Tired and hurt. Scared…”

       “Scared? I ain’t scared of nothin’. I fuckin’ run into machine gun fire, I go places, do things that most men…would kill most men I…”

       “Elliot, there are scarier things than bullets and bombs, Pal.”

       The doctor watched Salem collapse in on himself and tears began slipping down his battered cheeks and into his blood clotted beard.

       “Fear, Elliot, has played such an enormous role in your life. As a child fear of your father’s abuse, fear of losing his love as such, and the terror of life in prison. Now, as an adult the fear that comes with the job. Fear of losing Tyson. These you tamp down, control and use to your advantage. It makes you who you are, an amazing soldier and comrade. But now, now this new fear, fear of love for and a relationship with a man, Vasily Tyannikov, is paralyzing you. Don’t fall prey to it, Elliot. Use it. Embrace it. Let it feed the new strength that you found that allowed you to begin this relationship. Yea, I get it that you’re scared he might not find you to be as experienced as he needs or wants but think Elliot, what is the one thing, the one thing that sets him apart from Tyson Rios. Yea, Elliot, it’s that Vasily Tyannikov loves you unconditionally. Yea, Pal, there are no stipulations and the only reason I think he asked you that question is _precisely_ because he is concerned, very concerned about hurting or scaring you away. He knows your history, and it terrifies him. Tyson beats the shit out of you. Tyson lords your loyalty and love for him over you and uses it to control and manipulate you. He does love you, Elliot, he does, but Tyannikov, he _loves you._ You. He loves you for you and you alone. And if that means loving you with your limited sexual experience then he will, and he does and punishing yourself like this, running from him, Elliot, that won’t change his mind. He waited a decade, Elliot, for you to make that move, a fucking decade Pal, give him a chance to love you.”

       “I can’t give him everything he wants. I…just…can’t...do…do that.” He ground out between clenched teeth followed but a stifled sob. Then he rambled on the words pouring free between sobs, “Not with him. With him…I want it clean, safe, love…loving? Loving. I kiss him, ‘cause I love him. I…the fuck’s fuckin’ wrong with me. He says he loves me! How?”

       The doctor sighed and nodded, knowing what the _that_ was and knowing Elliot would submit to doing it if the Russian mercenary requested it. He was a victim and victims tended to allow themselves to be re-victimized.

       “Has he ever asked?”

        Elliot shook his head no. He was trembling within the folds of the heavy wool blanket and O’Dell knew that he was nearing collapse. The bottle of Stoli slipped from his battered, blood encrusted fingers and after hitting the black tiled floor drained slowly out between his booted feet.

       “And he won’t. It’s been how long now for the two of you.”

       “Months, six, seven maybe. Says it don’t matter. Not important. Plenty other stuff we can do but…but…Dimitri, he…he’s Sily’s old partner, he says Vasily does do it. Likes to even so…”

       He trailed off, reached down and retrieved the Stoli. After looking grimily into the bottle and swirling the remaining Vodka around, he tipped it up and finished the rest off. O’Dell prompted him along.

       “So?”

       “So, and if I can’t? So, if I love him, if I love…then if I can’t, won’t…it…taking me like that, forcing himself into my skinny ass…he’s not like the others. I don’t want him to invade me like the others. _I can’t_! I will, would but I…it’ll change everything. Ruin everything!”

       Salem threw the bottle across the office, and it shattered a picture frame, before clattering to the floor. O’Dell ignored the outburst and sat unmoving across from Elliot. Salem tore off his hat and tried to run his fingers back through his matted hair, but they only snagged, and in frustration, he pounded on the sides of his throbbing head with clenched fists.

       “Elliot, Elliot stay with me, Pal. Come on keep talking to me, stay with me.” O’Dell soothed, cautiously reaching out and grasping the smaller man’s wrists to stop the self-inflicted beating.

       “Rios, Sily _isn’t_ Tyse. He…s’better. Won’t ever hurt me like that. Won’t ever take me, rape me, break me like that.” He spat out in rhythm with the blows.

       Finally, he stilled and drew his arms back into the blanket’s folds. O’Dell grasped his narrow shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. There it was at last. The confirmation, Elliot’s admission of Rios’ vicious act of brutality two years ago.

       “Breath Elliot, deep breaths. Stay with me man. You’re safe. This is a safe place. No, focus, focus on me. Look at me, Salem!”

       “Sily isn’t Tyse. Sily isn’t Tyse. Sily isn’t Tyse.”

       “No, he is not. No, come on, Elliot, I know it hurts buddy. No, no stay with me. Shit, fuck, damn!”

       His words failed to prevent the flashback from seizing the younger man. O’Dell held onto him, talked calmly to him and watched the play of emotions wash across his bruised and lacerated face. It saddened him to see Elliot in such distress, but the doctor part of him understood. Rios had told him about Elliot’s flashbacks, and he, in turn, had informed Murray but the duo ignored his suggestions to sideline Elliot until he could get him some help. The cycle had been playing out year after year slowly tearing the small soldier apart. Their lack of empathy infuriated him. He cursed under his breath while watching Elliot’s hazel eyes blink rapidly and could only wonder what the man was seeing behind the black and blue lids.

       After nearly ten long, agonizing minutes, the flashback passed and Elliot jerked free of O’Dell’s strong hands.

       “You back with me? Good man. Here, pull the blanket tighter.”

        “Sorry.”

       “Don’t be. This is why I am here.” O’Dell replied then breaking protocol reached out and pushed Salem’s tangled hair back off of his face.”

       “Exhausted, wanna die. Ashamed.”

       “I know, I know, but I want you to live. I know Vasily wants you to live. No shame in being tired, Elliot. No shame in being afraid. No shame in wanting, needing to be loved. Nothing’s wrong with you, Elliot. He loves you because you are a good man, a strong man, and a good soul. A beautiful soul, Elliot. What life, Rios, the others have done to you…don’t let them define you. This god forsaken job, don’t let it define you. Are you hearing me?”

       “Yea. D…do…What do I do?”

       “You go home, you let Vasily love you, and for the first time in your life, Elliot Salem, you live happily.”

       “Happily?”

        “Or as happily as you can. But I assure you, Elliot, it’s gonna be hard, damned hard, but you’ve survived worse. Much worse, Pal. This, this is the downhill run.”

       “What do I tell him? How do I tell him…him what I feel, fear…yea, fear.”

       “You tell him, just like you told me, Elliot. This is Vasily, not Rios. Not Murray. There’s no judgment here. Just a man who loves you, trying to understand how to protect you, trying to give you everything that you deserve.”

       “You think…you…no you know me. See right through me. You listened. No one ever listens to me. None of them. It hurts. Sily, he listens. Learning to talk. Easier when someone listens.”

       “And for that, I’m glad. I’m here for you any time.”

        “Gonna ground me?”

“Yea. Yea, Elliot I am. I’m sorry. You need time. You need rest. You earned rest. Rios and Murray won’t like it but fuck ‘em. They’ve over ridden my decisions about you for the last time”

        “Copy that. Thanks.”

       Once again, he slumped, head hung low, eyes on his feet. O’Dell could see the gash on the back of his head, and he groaned. It was ugly and needed tending to. The man’s entire body needed tending to. The man’s spirit needed tending, or better yet, O’Dell thought, nurturing. How to provide that care, though, would be a delicate task. Too strong of an approach and Elliot would bolt, too weak and he might suffer from his injuries. The doctor reached out and gently touched the ugly head wound. He decided to treat the situation like a mission. That would be language that Elliot would understand, and it might circumvent his feelings of guilt and weakness.

        “Op’s over, Salem. Now, you need a medic, Pal. A medic okay?”

       “A medic? Yea, yea took a punishing again.”

       “I have Doc Jacob on standby.”

       “Vasily s’medic. Just go…s’not…not home...is it home? S’fuckin’ confusing. To go to him. Need a home.”

       “It’s home, Elliot. It is your home. Take it.”

       “Will. Going now. Going…”

       Salem started to stand up but stumbled backwards onto the couch. O’Dell reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.

       “I’ll get you home. Take you myself, just need Vasily’s address.”

       “The Grand Palms, Grand Palms condo. Eighteen B. Miss him. Been three days.”

       Elliot leaned against O’Dell’s truck door, seemingly asleep, for the thirty minute drive to Tyannikov’s condominium. The doctor hoped that he’d be able to wake the exhausted man so that he wouldn’t have to lug him upstairs. He parked in the visitor lot and shut the truck off. The next few hours, days would be critical to getting Salem on track and while he knew that Vasily would be on board he still had to control the fall out with Rios and Murray.

       “Elliot, hey, Pal, we’re home. Wake up for me. Ten more minutes and you can really crash.”

       “Up, m’up”

       The duo trod to the building and O’Dell jammed the tiny black button on the security panel for eighteen B. Immediately, Vasily’s deep voice crackled through tiny circle shaped speaker.

       “Barsuhk?”

       “It’s Brian O’Dell, SSC psych doc, I have him. He’s home.”

       The speaker buzzed, and the locks on the ten foot tall entry doors clicked.

“Come on up.”

       O’Dell navigated Elliot through the entry and toward the elevators. It seemed to take forever for the doors to slide open, and he could feel Elliot trying feebly to pull away. Finally, he ushered him into the mirror walled car, and he pushed eighteen. Moments later the doors hissed open, and when they did the big Russian was standing outside of them. He took one look at Elliot and his face shattered into a mask of worry and relief. Salem read his concern and buckled in O’Dell’s arms. The two men trundled him down the long hallway to B and into Tyannikov’s home.

       “He needs some stitches, and a good looking over,” O’Dell said.

       “Bedroom, no, chair dining room chair, easier for stitches.”

       They propped Elliot in an armed dining room chair and stepped back. Vasily, with the experienced eyes of a seasoned combat medic, gave him a quick look over and went to work.

       “Brian, can I call you Brian?”

       “Yea.”

“Hallway closet, med kit bring it.”

       O’Dell moved out and Vasily knelt in front of Elliot. He reached up, tenderly took his battered face in his huge hands and shook his head. Tears streamed down his stubble shadowed cheeks.

       “My Barsuhk, my heart’s master, I am so sorry you are hurt. I am so happy you came back to me. Let me heal you now. Yes, yes it is alright now, Safe now.”

       “I’m sorry, Sily. Got lost. I got lost and, and, and…”

       “Shh, no apologies, none needed. Love you and that’s all you need to know.”

       O’Dell returned and together they set about stripping, washing and stitching up Elliot’s wounds. The head gash took fourteen stitches and a smaller laceration on his right cheek took five. Despite the terrible purple, green bruising on his ribs, none were broken, although sans an actual X-ray they couldn’t check for fractures. His breath sounds were clear though, so his lungs, albeit contused, were functioning well. Throughout the process, Elliot sat quietly compliant, too exhausted to fight them or care about any pain their ministrations caused him. Finally, Vasily picked him up and carried him into the bed room and settled him beneath the down filled comforter. He kissed his forehead and ran his hand back through his semi-clean hair. Then he kissed his eyes and finally his swollen lips.

       “I love you. You sleep now. I will be back shortly. Close your eyes, think of me and rest.”

       Elliot stared up at him, and Vasily read confusion in his weary eyes. Was he waiting for the big man to admonish him?

       “S’okay Sily. You can, can finish it. S’Okay. Tyse, he always knocks the shit outta me after I’m knocked the shit outta. S’okay.”

       Vasily shook his head no and pressed his forehead against Elliot’s. Then, with his lips brushing against the smaller man’s, “No, never. Never hurt you like that. I swear to you, Barsuhk never again will I hurt you. There will be no punishing. Just love and joy that you are home. Now sleep. That’s order.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
